Shrunk
by probablyquantum
Summary: After a Halloween party that didn't go as planned, Lexington and Brooklyn are left to clean up the mess. Several teens get shrunk down to the size of insects, and Puck scares some bullies. A fic commissioned by Mentoria. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Gargoyles; Disney does. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended. I make no money from this. Honey, I Shrunk the Kids is also not mine, and the story was inspired by that movie.

This story was commissioned by Mentoria, who is awesome. Her story concept was to make a Halloween story that involved a Honey, I Shrunk the Kids kind of situation. Then she let me run with it, and . . . well. All the flaws are mine, I can assure you.

Rating: T for language, gore, scary situations, humorous character deaths, and robot werewolves.

Summary: Happy Halloween from Castle Wyvern! Baby Alex exacts some revenge, Lex loses some VIP guests, and Brooklyn thinks the castle is haunted. 89% crack.

Notes: Takes place in the cartoon universe, post-Goliath Chronicles. You can assume that everything is canon-compliant, or at least intended to be so.

* * *

Honey, I Shrunk the Kids…

By probablyquantum

* * *

CHAPTER 1: Puck's Tale

The three boys were arguing in the hallway. Alex was dressed as a pirate, and he was cowering before a zombie and a ninja.

"What's your problem, Alex? "

"I just don't wanna go through the haunted house, is all. It's boring."

"You're scared. You're a spoiled sissy straight from new money who doesn't know how to have a good time."

"Am not!"

Owen narrowed his eyes as he watched the two boys turn to Alex, their hands on their hips as if they were tough. Really, humans could be so pathetic, especially when they were ten years old. It was times like these that Puck's leash felt much too tight. Not that long ago, he would have turned them into jackalopes or oysters, perhaps, or given them nasty dreams for life.

Now, he had to settle for all-too-human solution. He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and said, "Is there a problem, Alexander?"

His charge shook his head, but the effect was ruined by a bright blush spreading across his face.

The zombie, the taller boy, sneered. "See, Johnny? Scared little Alex Xanatos needs his butler to hold his hand."

The shorter human, the ninja, chuckled. "You want your butler to go through the haunted house with us? Would that make you feel better?"

Owen almost smiled at the fierce glint burning in Alex's eyes, but he stopped himself. Owen Burnett did not smile, even when Puck was amused. "As it happens, young man, I am not a butler. You may call me Mr. Burnett, or sir, whichever you prefer. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

The bigger human—by comparison, at any rate—frowned, confronted by adult authority. He puffed out his chest and said, "I'm Morgan Shane, and this is John Palsgraff.

"Of the Pittsburgh Palsgraffs," Johnny added.

"A pleasure. I take it you are Anthony Shane's eldest, then?" The name was one Owen recognized. Anthony Shane came from old money, but nowadays he spent his time making new, state-of-the-art weaponry for various governments.

"I see you are looking for entertainment during the party." It was, in fact, All Hallow's Eve, and the gargoyle clan was hosting its annual bash for Manhattan's elites. The party had become a tradition, as had the custom of inviting the guest's horrid children along to see the haunted house that Fox, Lexington, and Brooklyn constructed every year.

"Yeah. We were going to the haunted house." Morgan crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Alex.

Alex shrugged. "It's boring. I've been through it every year."

"Whatever, it's the best house in the city. Which means you're just scared."

Puck squirmed. Technically, he needed to teach Alex a lesson in standing up for himself, and _technically_, teaching these bullies a lesson would be the best way to instruct Alex. Secretly, Puck smiled.

"Might I suggest a different form of entertainment?"

Alex was the only one who caught the subtle change in his demeanor. He waited to see what would happen.

Owen gestured toward the sitting room behind him. "I happen to know the world's best storyteller. He would be delighted to entertain you this evening with seasonally appropriate tales. Go in there and wait. He will be a long shortly."

Johnny and Morgan shared a perplexed glance and shrugged. "I guess that sounds okay," Morgan conceded. "If he's lame, we can still catch the house before it closes, right?"

"I assure you, there will be plenty of time." Owen held the door as the three boys filed into the room. Alex raised his eyebrows as if to ask a question as he passed. Owen smirked.

With the door closed and a glance around to make sure no one was watching, Puck changed back into his natural form and waited enough time to make sure his cover was convincing. After a few minutes, he opened the door and walked in.

"Uh, what are you supposed to be?" Johnny asked.

"_What_ am I?" Puck exclaimed, his hand over his heart. "Now, that's not very polite. I thought you blue-blood types were born knowing Miss Manners by heart."

Johnny looked uncomfortable. "Um, I meant, what are you dressed as? Cause you look like a fairy."

Ah, yes. That silly human custom. Well, that certainly solved one of his problems. But _fairy_, really? These boys deserved a lot more than a good scare, but a warning glance from Alex calmed him down. "I'm dressed as Puck, the plucky trickster who serves Lord Oberon."

"Lord who?"

"Lord Oberon. Shakespeare?" He received two dumb, blank stares. "Good lord, they get dumber every year. Anyway, mortals, grab a cushion and gather round on the floor. We're here to discuss the misdeeds of a Halloween past."

He waited as curiosity overcame the boys, and all three settled down before him. He sat crossed-legged on a pillow and smiled.

"It all began," he said, "on a Halloween night just like this one. It was the first Halloween party after the gargoyle clan saved the city, several years ago." Alex's eyes widened, and Puck knew the boy recognized the story. "The Quarrymen had been run underground just a short time before, and the P.R. people here—that's public relations, for those of us who aren't learned enough to have heard of Lord Oberon, much less P.R. campaigns—decided they needed to do something to cement the clan's benevolent presence in the city.

"Broadway gave them the idea when he told Oprah that the only time he'd ever felt truly part of human society was when he walked the streets on his first Halloween in Manhattan. That's how this very party was born.

"But that first party was very different, too. The Quarrymen were still around, and some of them were hiding as friends of the clan, waiting for their chance for revenge. Some of them we knew about, but we tolerated them because, well, it's always better to keep your enemies close by. All that is another story, however, because this story is about five children of that first party's guests. At the party was Margaret Thompson, the daughter of an unimportant member of the People for Interspecies Tolerance. Margaret was there with her date, Andrew."

"Margaret Thompson? She died, didn't she?" Morgan asked.

"Killed by Quarrymen. My dad said so," Johnny replied proudly.

"Oh, no. Margaret's fate was far worse than that." Puck was satisfied with the ominous tone he used.

The two boys exchanged worried glances, but Alex rolled his eyes.

"As I was saying, Margaret and Andrew were there. They were both sophomores in high school, and this was their first date. The third wheel in their group was Alice Snow, Andrew's younger sister. She was a couple years behind them, if I remember correctly. Finally, I must reveal the two guests who ended up ruining poor Margaret's life. Those were James and Preston Wentworth, the two teenage sons of socialite James Wentworth the Third."

"I know who that is," Johnny said, his voice quiet. "He was John Castaway's secret right-hand-man. My—"

"—Your dad said so, I'm sure," Puck retorted. "It's rude to interrupt. Yes, we knew at the time who he was, but as I said, we wanted to keep an eye on him. But we're here to talk about poor Margaret Thompson and the other four, who were, arguably, luckier than Margaret."

"How were they luckier?"

"Hm? Oh, because they died."

The two brats were suitable impressed. Puck leaned forward, glad to have the audience eating out of his hands. It had been such a long time since he'd had any humans to play with.

And thus he began his tale.

* * *

To be continued very soon!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Gargoyles; Disney does. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended. I make no money from this. Story concept by Mentoria, on commission. All the flaws are mine.

Rating: T for language, gore, scary situations

Summary: A Halloween tale from Castle Wyvern. Alex exacts some revenge, Lex loses some guests, and Brooklyn gets spooked. 89% crack.

Notes: Takes place in the cartoon universe, post-Goliath Chronicles.

* * *

Shrunk

By probablyquantum

* * *

CHAPTER 2: The Party

Brooklyn folded his wings over his shoulders to keep the crisp, autumn breeze at bay. The castle was bustling with guests, and he still wasn't used to the idea. Sure, it was great that the humans felt comfortable enough to throw a party at the Eyrie, but being surrounded by so many enthusiastic humans was disorienting sometimes. After years of being hated and misunderstood, it was difficult for him to cope with all the warm and fuzzy acceptance.

Of course, Halloween among Xanatos's crowd meant domino masks and traditional masquerade attire. The costumes did little to conceal identities, much less species, so in Brooklyn's opinion it missed the point of the holiday entirely. He and his clan weren't wearing costumes at all, just fancy clothes that Xanatos had had custom-made for them.

At least the adolescents and children had enough style to have real costumes. At Lexington's suggestion, the clan's P.R. team had invited all the children of the guests. The adults were mingling on the terrace while the younger crowd was inside the keep, where the haunted house had been constructed the week before.

He nodded to Lexington, who followed him into the great hall. They went into a small room to the right of the haunted house's entrance. The office was small, but big enough for the two smaller gargoyles to sit in front of an array of computer terminals. He and Lexington were supervising the special effects, some of which Lex had designed himself.

Beside him, Lexington grinned with pride. The house had turned out to be a maze of true horrors, according to all the relevant human customs about Halloween. Brooklyn had come up with the idea that it would be vampire-themed, which seemed to be all the rage among humans that year. So he'd set up the house like a castle-within-a-castle, and the guests would wind their way through the halls dodging actors and robotic bats alike. The final destination was the main resting chamber for the vampire, and the guests had to drive a stake through robot Dracula's heart in order to leave.

It was brilliant, even if he did say so himself. Still, monitoring the guests from a cramped office wasn't as fun as he thought it was going to be. After the first few groups went through, it got to be routine, even though Brooklyn tried his best to crack vampire jokes.

He was beginning to think there was no reason to keep an eye on things at all when he noticed five teenagers pausing by the cages of werewolf guard dogs. They didn't look like they were getting along. He turned around and nudged Brooklyn, who turned out to be reading a graphic novel.

"Hey, check this out," he said after Brooklyn ignored the poking.

"What?"

"I think there's going to be a fight."

Brooklyn sighed and peered over his copy of _Y the Last Man_. He looked at the screen where Lexington was pointing. "Where?"

"There." Lex looked back at the monitor. The humans were gone. "Huh. They were just there . . . maybe they moved on to the next room?" He scanned the other views of the house, though, and he couldn't find the same group of five people. "They're gone."

"Spooky. Very funny, Lex."

"No, really, they were—"

"Uh huh. Just watch for real trouble, okay?"

Lexington frowned as Brooklyn turned his attention back to the book. He crossed his arms and stared at the view of the werewolf cages. Maybe he had just imagined it.

* * *

The haunted house was pretty cool, Margaret had to admit. Her mother said some of the gargoyles had designed it with help from Xanatos's vast resources and staff. That alone had made her excited, and the result hadn't let her down. It wasn't revolutionary or anything—a standard haunted house where people and robots jumped out at you—but it had flair, and a sense of reality that Margaret couldn't shake. Maybe it was because it was a castle inside a real, ancient Scottish castle that made the special effects and actors seem more believable.

She felt Andrew slip his hand in hers. She smiled politely and allowed it, even though the guy's hand was a little clammy. He was cute enough, she supposed, but she was only going out with him as a favor to a friend of hers she'd met from the People for Interspecies Tolerance. He was the child of one of the members, just like she was. Somehow, that made people think they belonged together.

At least Andrew seemed excited about the date, even though he'd brought his little sister. "Little" was harsh, Margaret knew, since Alice was only two years younger than them. But that put her into the "eighth grader" category, and there's nothing that will cramp a sophomore's style more than that.

Still, Margaret was at heart a sweet person, and she was at least going to pretend like she wanted to be on a date with Andrew. Being nice didn't mean there had to be a second date, after all.

And besides, there were benefits to being seen at the hottest Halloween party in all of Manhattan with a more-attractive-than average date, sister or no sister. She smiled as she thought of what she could tell her classmates the next day. They would be positively green with envy.

The party wasn't bad, either. She was worried it was going to be one of her mom's stuffy, over-the-hill affairs for bored socialites. But it seemed the gargoyles wanted a younger crowd around, especially since there were more adolescent gargoyles than adults in the clan. She'd met them once, briefly, when they'd attended a PIT meeting.

They were passing by a room filled with cages. As she walked near one, a snarling wolf leapt at the bars, its eyes glowing. She yelped grabbed Andrew's arm (to his delight, she was sure). It took her a second to realize that it was just a robot. But it wasn't a wolf, she realized; it was a werewolf. Kinda cool.

Alice had jumped, too, and the two girls giggled nervously when they realized they'd fallen for the oldest trick in the haunted-house book.

"Thought you liked monsters." It was a guy's voice, and for a second she thought Andrew was making fun of her. But the way Andrew twisted around to look behind them made her realize that the voice belonged to a stranger.

She turned and saw two guys there. They had to be in high school, too, but she couldn't tell how old they were. Probably juniors or seniors, if she had to guess. They were dressed like . . . well, kind of like Indiana Jones. They had white shirts, khaki pants, and ridiculous hats. There were bloody stakes stuck in their belts, though, so they must be vampire hunters. They were smiling behind two sets of perfect, white teeth, but they didn't look nice at all.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Andrew asked, his arm winding its way around Margaret's shoulders, as if she needed some man to shelter her. She considered shrugging him off, but that would probably just make the two newcomers happy.

"You're part of the P.I.T. posse, right?"

"Our parents are," Margaret said. "I take it you're not?"

The guy who'd spoken, a blond guy with way too much hair gel, slipped his hands into his pockets. "Nah. The old man does business with David Xanatos."

The brunet next to him smiled. "I'm Preston Wentworth. This is my brother James." The blond one nodded.

Margaret narrowed her eyes. She knew the family, at least by name. James Wentworth the Third was their father. Everyone in P.I.T. knew Wentworth had been one of John Castaway's favorite Quarrymen, probably because the Wentworths could foot the bill for two private armies if they wanted. Why he was here, Margaret couldn't fathom. "The name's Margaret. This is Andrew and his sister Alice."

Alice waved half-heartedly.

James's smile faded from his lips. "I know who you are. You didn't answer my question, though. I thought you _liked_ monsters."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Margaret snapped. She knew what he meant, but she wanted him to say it.

"I'm just making sure we're being consistent here. If you're really okay with gargoyles, I don't see why anything in this house should scare you."

"What? So maybe I'm a hypocrite? Is that what you're getting at?" Now Margaret did shrug off Andrew's arm by stepping forward and crossing her arms over her chest.

"You said it, not me."

"Well, it's better than being a terrorist."

The brothers smirked, as if they'd practiced it. "Not in my book," James said.

_ "_Well, you shouldn't believe everything you read," Margaret snapped. "Especially if your father wrote it."

"I don't know what you mean," Preston said haughtily.

"Like hell you don't."

"Listen, listen," Preston said, holding his hands palms-up as a gesture of peace—and Margaret knew immediately that she would never like Preston because he was the type of person who would repeat words like that. "I was just clearing up some confusion, that's all. You've got to admit it's a fair question. I mean, Jim and I were talking, and we don't really see the difference between a gargoyle and a werewolf."

"Except that the werewolf is in a cage," James cut in.

Preston grinned. "Right, so it seems like you'd be _less_ afraid of the werewolves."

"If you're being internally consistent, anyway," James added.

Ugh. They even finished each other's sentences. Margaret was about to retort—or maybe just roll her eyes and walk away, she hadn't decided—when Andrew did something awesome. Margaret blinked, and then suddenly Andrew's fist was slamming into Preston's jaw.

Even she would admit to being impressed, but that didn't solve the problem of two muscled guys against one scrawny guy, no matter how gutsy the latter was. And there was no way Margaret was going to join in the fight. She grabbed Alice and tried to back away, but they were backed against the wall.

* * *

Meanwhile, Puck was minding his own business, which happened to be the three-year-old Alexander Xanatos. Alex, however, was never one for minding his own business.

[Several years into the future, ten-year-old Alex rolled his eyes and tried not to look embarrassed as Puck recounted the tale. The fae was really not helping his reputation.]

Alex had wandered away from his diligent guardian and was watching the exchange between the five teens in the hall below him. The haunted house didn't have a ceiling, and it was a simple matter to peer through the balcony railing at the werewolf room below.

While Puck was looking for his charge, Alex was getting annoyed with the two boys. When the third, skinny boy punched the blond one, Alex giggled in delight. He wanted to help out, so he lifted his hand above his head and envisioned the results.

Preston and James thought they were big and bad, so they should be taught how it felt to be small and weak. The air around his hand shimmered.

Then something went wrong. Instead of just the two bullies disappearing, all five teens blinked out of existence.

Oops. He turned around and looked for help. Sure enough, Puck was there to rescue him.

"There you are, little one!" exclaimed Puck, who scooped Alex up into his arms. "What have you been up to?"

"I missed," Alex tried to explain, but Puck's reaction wasn't what he expected it to be.

Instead of fixing the problem, his teacher just shrugged. "You miss your mother and father? Well, come with me, and we'll crash their boring party."

Alex craned his neck to see the empty werewolf room, but soon Puck had carried him far away from the railing.

Too bad, he thought, and then promptly forgot all about it.

* * *

"No, really." Lex frowned. "There were kids there."

"Uh huh."

"There _were_."

Brooklyn narrowed his eyes. "Were not."

"Were."

"Were not."

"_You're_ a kid."

"Touché." Brooklyn sighed. "Fine, they were there. Well, they went _somewhere_. Maybe they're just in a blind spot and the cameras didn't see them."

Lexington bristled. "I designed that camera system myself. There _aren't_ any blind spots."

Brooklyn stood up, finally defeated. "Of course there aren't. Okay, fine, they disappeared. Let's go look for ourselves before we tell anyone that, okay?"

* * *

Margaret blacked out for a second, and when she opened her eyes, she was staring at . . . well, she was staring at the other four people, who were staring wide-eyed at each other. But where they were, she had no idea.

The stone floor was very uneven, and there was a thick layer of dust and dirt beneath her feet. Next to her, there was even a small log just lying in the middle of the room.

And the room itself was _huge. _She looked right, then left, and then up and almost fell down. She couldn't make out any details in the ceiling. It was so high that it should have been the sky, but it was obviously made of stone and wood. A strong wind nearly knocked her down.

The guys stopped their fistfight in favor of looking around in wonder. Alice still clung to her arm, her nails digging into Margaret's skin. The girl's eyes were wide, and she was gawking at something in the distance.

"Alice?" Margaret asked. "What's—what's wrong?"

Alice didn't answer. She just kept staring past the group to something in the distance. Margaret turned and saw a wall behind them. It was the only wall she could see in any detail. There was something off about it, though: the wood was very coarse, with deep lines in the wood and giant splinters sticking out in weird places.

There was a large metal disk in the wood, too, and Margaret wildly wondered if it was a door. It had been silver once upon a time, but now it was partially coated with black grime. She'd never seen anything like it before. Maybe they had fallen through a trapdoor in the haunted house, and this was a planned section. Maybe the walls and ceiling weren't that far away after all. It was probably all done with mirrors, she decided.

She was going to explain that to Alice when she blinked and looked at the metal disk in a slightly different way. She tried very hard not to scream, so she squeaked instead.

"What?" Andrew turned to her.

"It's a screw." She was going crazy, she just knew is. "That's a screw, and it's . . . really . . . big."

The look on Andrew's face said she'd finally lost it, and Margaret couldn't blame him.

"Uh." Preston pointed in the opposite direction. "So're they. Big, I mean."

Margaret was afraid to turn around, but she knew she had to. Alice's vice grip on her arm got impossibly tighter when they saw what Preston was pointing at.

Bearing down on them was the biggest gargoyle she'd ever seen. And she didn't mean four-times-her-size big. He was thousands of times her size, a true giant coming down the hallway. It looked like Brooklyn, and Lexington trailed behind him.

"Everything's bigger," Alice finally whispered.

"No," Margaret said after a pause. "I think everything else stayed the same size. We're the ones who are different. We're . . . still in the werewolf room," Margaret said. As she spoke, she knew she was right no matter how crazy that sounded.

The others were quiet as they watched the two gargoyles get closer. When their steps started disturbing the dust and sending gusts of wind their way, Margaret realized that they were soon going to have a problem on their hands.

She wasn't the only one to think of that, thankfully, because James started backing away. "Um, the green one's coming this way. Maybe we should, you know . . . run?"

Margaret exchanged glances with Andrew and Alice, both of whom had gone pale. They looked like they were having trouble thinking.

She looked up at Lexington, who was a lot closer than he'd been a second ago. In fact, he was way too close for comfort.

Then he looked down, and Margaret thought they were all saved. She smiled, but only for a second. He was trying to step on them! "Right. Run!"

She grabbed Alice and Andrew and started running for the wall. She could hear Preston and James coming behind them. There was a small space under the wooden plank, and she rushed the four others into it before her. "Go, hurry!"

As Margaret ducked down after them, she spared a glance over her shoulder and saw Lexington's foot just a few inches above her. With a gasp, she flung herself under the cage and rolled out of the way just in time. She heard a terrifying thud as the gargoyle's foot hit the floor just a few inches away.

* * *

Lexington and Brooklyn had made it through a third of the haunted house again. "Are you sure you'd recognize them again if you saw them?" Brooklyn asked.

"Yeah, positive."

Lexington walked over to the werewolf cages. He couldn't help but admire his handiwork as the machines inside the cages growled and strained against the bars when he approached. "They were right here one second, then gone."

Brooklyn shrugged. He was getting a little worried because if Lexington said there wasn't a gap in the surveillance cameras, then he'd bet anything that Lex was right. "They probably went on ahead. Let's check the next room for a problem with the cameras, okay?"

Lexington hesitated. He gave the room a once-over, but the only signs of life were a few ants scurrying underneath the cages. He tried to step on them, but he was a second too late. Sighing, he made a mental note to look into extermination techniques later.

* * *

_Chapter three coming soon! Reviews appreciated!_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Gargoyles; Disney does. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended. I make no money from this. Story concept and certain plot elements by Mentoria.

Rating: T for language, gore, scary situations

Summary: A Halloween tale from Castle Wyvern. Alex exacts some revenge, Lex loses some guests, and Brooklyn gets spooked. 89% crack.

Notes: Takes place in the cartoon universe, post-Goliath Chronicles.

* * *

Shrunk

By probablyquantum

CHAPTER 3: Shrunk

* * *

Lexington was worried. He and Brooklyn had searched every room in the haunted house, and there was no sign of the five humans he had seen on the screen. Their progress was slowed periodically when they ran into groups of kids who wanted to talk to them.

Searching the rest of the castle was simple. By the time they'd reached the exit, the party was winding down. Many of the guests had already left, but a more intimate circle had gathered on the terrace. Xanatos was entertaining his guests with conversation. Most of the people in the group were members of the P.I.T., although a few of Xanatos's business associates were there, too.

He backed away from the doorway before they spotted him, and Brooklyn pulled him by the arm into a nearby room.

"Maybe we're making too much of it. Maybe they left?"

Lexington tried his best to be reasonable. Maybe that's what happened, after all. The kids probably went outside to finish their fight. "You're probably right. Let's go once more through the haunted house, though, okay?"

Brooklyn was reluctant, but he went along with it. They peeked into all the nooks and crannies of the haunted house, just to make sure no one was hiding behind any of the props. They hadn't found any gap in the camera coverage, but the cameras couldn't see behind walls, after all. It was worth a look at any rate.

* * *

Margaret rolled her eyes. Andrew and Alice were telling Preston and James just what they thought of anthropocentric bullies, and Preston and James were saying terrible things about gargoyles, and it was getting old.

"All right, listen up!" Margaret shouted. Her four companions stopped mid-sentence and waited. "Is anyone else worried that we're the size of ants, or is that just me?"

A lot of pathetic silence was all she got for her trouble.

"Okay," she continued, "I'm going to take that as a yes. And if anyone hasn't noticed, we're all in trouble here, so regardless of how we feel about gargoyles, we should put aside our differences for a few minutes and figure out how the hell we're going to get back to normal."

Spencer and Andrew looked down at their shoes, and Alice shrugged.

James was the only one who made eye contact. "You might have noticed we nearly got trampled to death by one of your gargoyles, so forgive us if we're less than thrilled right now."

Margaret clenched her teeth, just for a second while she thought of how best to respond. "Fair enough. But we need to get someone's attention, and we're probably going to need all five of us to do that."

James considered that. He made an effort not to think about the _why_ and _how _of suddenly being much less than an inch tall, and tried to think about what they were going to do about it. The brunette was bossy, but she had a point. "Okay," he said at length. "What do you suggest?"

Margaret took a deep breath. "We need to get a message to someone. I saw a Ouija board in the room just before this one. If we can move the marker while someone's looking at it, we can write a message."

Her companions were cheered by the idea until they were a foot away from the werewolf cages, crossing a vast expanse of dirty floor. Margaret's legs were already tired, so she couldn't blame the others for grumbling.

It took them forever to get to the table in the next room where the Ouija board was, and then Preston turned on her. "What's your awesome plan now?"

Margaret tried her best not to look defeated. There was no way they were going to be able to climb up to the tabletop. Well, there was the rough tablecloth . . . the coarse fabric looked sturdy enough to climb, almost like a giant, tangled rope ladder. "We climb," she said, as if she'd planned it all along.

"You're kidding."

Margaret put a foot between some threads and hoisted herself up off the ground. Yes, it would hold her weight. "Just don't look down, and don't fall."

"No way am I going up there," Andrew said, his voice trembling.

Margaret craned her neck around and glared at him. "I'm sorry, Andrew, I didn't realize you didn't have any balls." Preston and James snickered, and Andrew turned bright red. He didn't have a retort, though, probably because he was still on his best behavior. This was still a date, after all. Margaret had a feeling she wouldn't be dating for a very long time once all this was over. "Everyone better follow me, or I'll just forget to tell everyone where you are when I'm rescued."

The four people behind her sighed and grumbled all the way to the top, but they did follow. It turned out to be much harder than she had expected; they had to pause every few inches to rest. The climb started out easy at the bottom, where the tablecloth curved out into a gentle slope. But the higher they got, the more vertical the wall got. In fact, at one point Margaret was sure it was almost an inverted slope for a few inches. It leveled out again, thankfully.

Finally, she was a few inches from the top. She was worried because that climb had probably taken half an hour, and the walk across the room even longer. At this rate, the haunted house would be dismantled around them before they even made it to the game board.

How all five of them made it to the tabletop without at least one person falling to his or her death, Margaret couldn't fathom. But make it they did, even if she was covered in sweat and could hardly breathe from the exertion. Just a short jog away, she could see the Ouija board she remembered passing on her way through the haunted house.

She took a moment to survey the room, which was definitely a mistake. They were _high_. It was like looking at the Grand Canyon, only worse. The room was brighter than it had been on their way in; she guessed that meant the party was over, and a clean-up crew would be coming through soon to take all the decorations down.

"So now what?" Alice asked, her voice meek.

Good question, Margaret thought, as she turned away from the vertigo-inducing sight and surveyed the tabletop.

It was only when she'd jogged over to the board and climbed onto it that she realized just how small she was. She couldn't read the letters—she was _that_ close to the floor. The planchette, which was mercifully close to the edge, was three times her height!

Preston whistled, staring up at the planchette. "Can we even move that thing?"

"Only one way to find out," Margaret said.

She instructed the five of them to push with all their might against the side of the planchette. Luckily, it seems to be resting on well-oiled wheels, and it turned out to be made of cheap, light plastic. After a solid heave-ho, the game piece rolled forward. They probably didn't need all five of them, after all. At least the boys were good for one thing other than complaining—they were strong enough to move it all by themselves.

"Not bad," James said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Just one problem."

Margaret didn't need to hear it; she knew exactly what he was thinking. "Yeah, I know. There's no way to tell where we're going from here."

Behind her, Alice craned her neck. "Hey, guys?"

"What?" Margaret asked.

"What if someone climbed up there?" She pointed to something on the far side of the table. Margaret looked over and saw a lantern. It was there to look spooky, she guessed, but the best part was that it had a fine chain hanging down from the top, and it was just the right size to be used as a ladder. It would be a stretch, but if someone climbed up there, they could give instructions from up high and be on the lookout for people entering the room.

"Yeah," she said absently. "That's great."

Alice was nodding. "I can go up there, and I can shout instructions to you guys."

The guys quickly absorbed the plan and agreed. Andrew looked worried, though. "Are you sure you want to do that? I could go instead."

But Alice shook her head. "No, I'm the weakest one here, so I'm no good at pushing the big whatchamacallit. Thingy."

"Planchette," James supplied. Margaret was slightly impressed.

"Right. That. But I was the fastest climber on the way up, and I'm probably the least tired out of all of us. Plus I can yell really loud."

"That's true. Your voice _is_ really annoying." Her brother was smiling at her, though, which made Margaret feel slightly warmer toward Andrew.

"It's settled then." Margaret walked beside Andrew and leaned against the planchette. "We need to get to our places now. We don't know when someone's going to walk into the room."

"Or if they'd even notice this thing moving."

Margaret didn't answer that because she didn't have a salutation ready.

"Wait," Alice said. "What should we spell out?"

"Something short. Like 'help.'"

"How about 'S.O.S.'?" Alice suggested. "It's only two letters to find, and you can just go back and forth between them until someone notices."

"Perfect!"

Now all that was left to do was wait for someone to come into the room. She bit her lip when she felt, rather than heard, a deep rumbling of male voices. The two gargoyles, the same ones from before, entered the room. She could not make out their words, but she knew they had only a few precious seconds in which to act, and Alice was only halfway up the chain. "Hurry!" she shouted. "Or just tell us what to do from there!"

Alice turned her head and hooked an arm around the chain to secure her position. Margaret was worried that Alice was too far away to be heard, but a few moments later she heard the shrill instructions. "Okay, move up to the top of the board!"

Margaret and Andrew pushed along with the guys, and eventually the planchette creaked into motion. They had gone only a few inches when Alice shouted, "Stop!"

James and Preston pushed from their side, stopping the planchette before it rolled too far in that direction.

"Okay, now to Margaret's right!"

They followed Alice's instructions, even while a shadow fell over them. Panic gripped Margaret's throat when she looked over her shoulder. She couldn't manage even a whispered warning when she saw what the yellow-green gargoyle was doing.

He'd picked up the lantern, and the chain swung wildly to the side, then crashed back into the side of the lantern.

She heard Alice's scream as the girl fell. Andrew broke from her side and ran to where his sister's body fell limp on the tabletop.

* * *

"The thing is," Brooklyn said, "sure, they could be hiding in one of the empty barrels. But Lex, come on. They don't have any reason to hide in barrels."

Lexington knew his brother was right, but that didn't stop him from peering into every empty, human-sized container in the building. What were they going to do if the kids' parents showed up and wanted to know where their children had gone? He wanted to be able to say that they at least did everything they could.

By the time they'd reached the middle of the haunted house, however, he began to feel a little silly. "Let's just check one last room, okay?"

The next room turned out to be the room with the Ouija board. The actors who were doing the séance had long since gone home. Lex was disappointed because there weren't a lot of places anyone could hide in this room.

He crawled over to the table and looked underneath the tablecloth. There was nothing there but dust.

"Uh, Lex?"

"I know, I know, they have no reason to hide under a table."

"No, um, that's not what . . . I think . . . that's not, like, some awesome, robotic, automatic Ouija board, is it?"

"Huh? No, we had actors in this room, remember? I wanted to do robots, but _no_, you said we couldn't have robots everywhere, it'd get old."

"And, um, I stand by that. Just . . . I think . . . the Ouija board thing is moving by itself."

Intrigued, Lexington crawled out from under the table and peer at the tabletop, which was at eye level for him. The planchette was still, stuck on the letter "O," but he _did_ see more of those weird bugs from earlier. As he watched, the planchette twitched as the bugs moved around it.

"Ew," he said, jumping back.

"I think it's spelling something, Lex . . . ."

Lex rolled his eyes and pointed to the small black creatures. "Relax. It's just some bugs. Maybe kids spilled soda on it or something."

"Uh, yeah, bugs can't spell, Lex. It says . . . O . . . S . . . ."

Lex picked up the lantern. "Yeah, because it's moving in a straight line. That's all." He noticed one bug break away from the group and start toward him. "That's so gross," he said, and he plunked the lantern down on top of the tiny thing. He didn't recognize the species, but he wasn't about to get too close to it.

A general bug spray would probably do the trick, whatever they were.

"Come on," he said. "I give up. I imagined the whole thing."

Brooklyn, for once, didn't look so convinced, but he followed Lexington out of the room anyway.

* * *

She was about to run toward the lantern when Margaret felt strong hands grip her shoulders. "There's nothing we can do!" James's voice was worried but firm as he dragged her in the opposite direction. His arms around her were all that kept her from falling to the floor in horror. "Come on, let's get out of here. Before they come back."

Margaret allowed herself to be led away from the terrible sight.

* * *

_To be continued soon! Reviews are appreciated, as always._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Whoa, who'd have thought applying for the bar would take so long? Anyway, back to updating.**

Disclaimer: I don't own Gargoyles; Disney does. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended. I make no money from this. Story concept and certain plot elements by Mentoria.

Rating: T for language, gore, scary situations

Summary: A Halloween tale from Castle Wyvern. Alex exacts some revenge, Lex loses some guests, and Brooklyn gets spooked. 89% crack.

Notes: Takes place in the cartoon universe, post-Goliath Chronicles.

* * *

Shrunk

By probablyquantum

* * *

Chapter 4: The After-Party

* * *

Margaret did not know how long she cried, or how she ended up hiding under a candlestick base at the other end of the table. She could only assume that James had walked her there—perhaps dragged her. She remembered fighting to get to the lantern, but each time he'd stopped her.

She knew it was no use; the base of the lantern was not hollow. There was no way Alice or Andrew could have survived.

Now, she sobbed into James's shoulder. James held her the whole time, firmly at first, then awkwardly as she kept clinging to him. Preston raised his eyebrows, to which James shrugged. Every so often, James would tell her it was okay.

Like she would believe that, _could_ ever believe that again. She'd just witnessed two of her friends be destroyed by a gargoyle in a single, thoughtless stroke. How could it possibly be okay?

Finally, she remembered who the guy in her death grip was and forced herself to be calm. It wasn't James's job to make her feel better.

She stepped back and wiped her eyes. Both brothers were looking at her warily, as if worried she would break down again at any minute.

"Sorry," she managed between shaky breaths.

James shook his head. "It's okay." She had calmed enough to recognize that both James and Preston had gone pale, and each had slightly red eyes. That they had been similarly affected, if not to the same degree, made her feel less foolish.

"Come on and sit down," James said, putting his arm on hers.

She joined them both. The trio sat cross-legged in a pathetic huddle in the hollow base of the candlestick. They did not speak for a long time, just stared at their hands and each other, until the lights clicked off. The haunted house was sealed off from the rest of the castle, and it was suddenly very dark.

"This is fucked," Preston muttered. It wasn't funny, but suddenly all three of them were laughing out of sheer terror.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" James asked when they were finished.

"Stay away from the gargoyles, that's for sure," Preston said.

Margaret's stomach growled. She was hungry and tired, and her muscles ached from the day's long trek and climb.

"And get food," Preston said, not as nastily as Margaret expected.

"Tomorrow," James added. "For now, I'm going to sleep."

Margaret heard a rustling from both sides and could only assume that the brothers were lying down. She was still hunched over, but she had to admit that her back hurt, and stretching out seemed like a very pleasant prospect. She slipped her sweater off and balled it up into a pillow.

She stared up into darkness as she lay there. In the distance, she could occasionally hear distorted voices, thumps, and clattering. She imagined it was a night crew cleaning up after the party, and she wondered if they would start tearing apart the haunted house as they slept.

After a while, she also heard one of her companions' snoring. Only a few minutes later, she heard the other whisper her name: "Um, Margaret, was it?"

"James?" she asked. She thought the voice came from her right, where James had been last.

"Yeah." She heard James shift closer to her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She shrugged, even though he could not see her gesture in the dark. "I guess. Sorry I broke down like that."

"Don't worry about it. It was just a little . . . surprising. You were, uh, really confident earlier."

Margaret bit her lip. He didn't say "bossy," at least, though she suspected he was thinking it. She had a reputation for pushing people around. "Sorry," was all she could think to say. She blinked furiously when tears welled unbidden in her eyes. "I just can't believe what happened."

"Me neither."

"It's not their fault, you know."

"The gargoyles'?"

"He wouldn't have done it if he knew who we were."

"You're kidding, right? Two people get . . . well, _that_ happens, and the only thing you're concerned about is that I don't blame them?"

Margaret wanted to walk off in a huff, but that was probably a bad idea given the circumstances. "Why don't you shut up?" she barked instead.

Apparently the guy listened because he did not reply. Margaret drifted off into a light, disturbed sleep.

* * *

Lexington and Brooklyn sighed together as they left the conference room. The police were there taking the parents' statements. It was easy enough to identify the five missing teenagers when the only guests remaining at the end of the night were those waiting for their kids.

Brooklyn was in a foul mood, mostly because that creep Wentworth blamed the other three kids for his missing sons. It was obvious to everyone what had happened—the Quarryman's kids had picked a fight, they'd gone outside to finish it, and then the two Wentworth brats had done something terrible. What that was, exactly, Brooklyn wasn't sure, but it had to have been the two boys' fault. The others were children of PIT members, after all. They were supposed to be the good guys.

The police swept through the castle one last time and determined that wherever the teens had gone, it wasn't anywhere inside Castle Wyvern. The humans had stayed until after dawn; when the clan woke up again, the Halloween decorations were gone, and the castle was more or less back to normal.

Lexington was worried about the missing kids. The party was supposed to be good for P.R., and misplacing five people definitely make them look bad. There was very little to be done, however, so he decided to focus on a more mundane, but equally disturbing, problem, and that was the bugs.

Bugs were completely unacceptable. Sure, he'd barely noticed them in Scotland because there weren't exactly a lot of exterminators in the 10th Century. But a thousand years later, people had a _choice_. Xanatos normally kept the castle free of any life other than the human, gargoyle, or fae sort. Alexander wasn't even allowed to have a pet. Of course, there were various sorts of insects and birds outside, but Lexington had been spending much of his time indoors with his computers. He'd grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle.

The deluge of guests and staff from the party had lured in unwanted vermin. After he came to that conclusion, Lexington found himself rummaging through the maintenance closets for bottles of Raid and other traps. Everyone but he and Brooklyn had gone to search for the missing kids—they had been volunteered to stay behind for cleanup. Mostly, Lexington thought it was because the others blamed them for losing track of the kids when they had been within sight of his security cameras. Well, if he couldn't help the police find the missing teens, then he might as well make the castle habitable again. It made him feel useful, especially since he felt responsible for losing the teens.

He grimaced as he pulled a can of Raid from the shelves. Until he could get a full fumigation of the place, it would have to do.

Brooklyn peered over his brother's shoulder. "I really don't think this is necessary," he said.

"It's necessary. Bugs are gross." He picked up a second can and shook it, and he left the caps of both on the shelves. This way, he could shoot in two directions at once.

"That's just . . . overkill. And anyway, you're in denial. There aren't any unidentifiable bugs—face facts, Lex, it's a ghost."

"Look, we've been over this. And you didn't have to suggest that in front of the PIT, by the way, because now they think we're all crazy on top of incapable of babysitting teenagers. There were bugs. I saw them. End of story."

"Bugs don't know how to spell, Lex."

"Random chance. They were pushing the planchette and it just happened to cross over two letters. Big deal. There are twenty-six letters on a Ouija board, you know. It's bound to cross at least a couple of them."

"Lex." Brooklyn put his hands on his hips. "There was no food anywhere in sight. Bugs aren't interested in plastic game pieces."

"Soda. There was probably some spilled soda on the planchette."

"Yeah. Denial."

"Logic."

"Well, I checked, and there wasn't any soda on that board."

Lexington tried his best to look unimpressed. "Really? You went back and checked to see if there was sugary residue on a game board while the rest of our clan is out hunting for missing children? And _I'm_ in denial?"

Brooklyn didn't let the words phase him. "It was a Ouija board, Lex! And ghosts are real—Goliath saw some in Scotland, remember? My explanation is a lot less far-fetched than bugs who like to play with Ouija boards!"

Lexington considered that for a brief second. "Fine. Just for the sake of argument, let's say there are ghosts. What do you plan to do about it?"

"Well, I've been thinking about that . . . ."

"Oh, thinking. Thank goodness."

"Shut up, okay? It spelled O-S before you rudely interrupted it. So what if it's name?"

"A name?"

"Like, Oscar."

"A ghost named Oscar is haunting our fake haunted house?"

Brooklyn shrugged. "Weirder things have happened."

Lexington gave his Raid can another shake. "There are bugs, and I'm going to kill them. You can help me or not, your choice." He wandered toward the haunted house, thinking he would start in the room where he last saw the pests.

* * *

Margaret, Preston, and James woke early the next morning. Margaret felt defeated and couldn't decide what to do, so she simply followed James and Preston during the long, tough climb down the tablecloth. Apparently the guys had concocted a plan when she was asleep because they moved without speaking; occasionally, during the trek across the vast, landmark-less plain, Preston would peer off into the distance and point the trio in a different direction.

She walked in a haze, not particularly caring where they ended up. After a while, the pain in her feet from walking so much faded, though she was sure she had blisters. Only when her stomach grumbled from hunger did she look up to see where they were.

Preston was pointing up, so up she looked. She identified the sheer cliffs in front of her as a desk. An office chair on wheels was there, too.

"What are we doing here?"

Preston turned around. "Hey, so you've decided to join us."

Margaret blinked. She must have seemed just as out of it as she felt. "Never mind that. Where are we?"

"The office by the entrance of the haunted house." Had they come that far? Her legs were wobbly, and she was sweating—she'd barely noticed until now, but suddenly she felt like she was going to fall down. James grabbed her arm to steady her. Preston noticed the gesture and rolled his eyes.

"We thought there would be a computer or radio or something here," James said in her ear.

"We're . . . going to climb up _there_?" she asked.

"Well, eventually." Preston plopped down on the tile beside the table leg. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted, and I'm going sit here for possibly forever. Good night." He leaned back against the wall—the table leg, really—and closed his eyes.

James did the same, so Margaret shrugged and let herself fall to the floor. She and James didn't fall asleep, though. They sat cross-legged next to each other. After a few minutes of looking around the room, James pointed to something on the other side of the desk. Margaret turned her head and saw a telephone cord. It was one of the older kind with the spirals—she'd really only seem them at school. It would work as a ladder.

"You think we should climb up that?" he asked.

Margaret shrugged. "I don't see how else we're going to get up there. But I don't really see what we're going to do once we're up there."

"Well," James said, "Preston and I were talking. And it looks like they're leaving this house standing for at least another day. They've taken the decorations and robotic crap out, but they're not going all that fast. Our guess is, they've got some of their staff looking for us and it's slowing them down. So if we get up there next to the computer, we know someone's gotta come and take it apart, right?" Margaret nodded. "And maybe they'll even bring their lunch, too, because I'm starving."

"Me too," Margaret said weakly. It had been a long time since dinner last night. She needed food, especially if they were going to keep climbing furniture.

They waited there a long time in silence, and Margaret could feel her limbs growing stiff and sore. When it started to get a bit darker, the lights switched on. She jumped, thinking someone had walked into the room, but no one was there. It must have been automatic, she decided, or perhaps the switch was in different room. She was calmer now, but she was aware that the entire day must have passed during their long walk and subsequent rest.

Preston groaned at the change in lighting.

"We should get moving," James sighed as he stood. He looked as if it hurt to move, and Margaret was not looking forward to it, herself.

"Ten more minutes," Preston grumbled.

"Nope. Man up, dude. Come on." James pulled his brother up, and Margaret managed to stand, too. It hurt as much as she'd expected it to.

It was going to be another long, horrible climb, and she was not looking forward to it.

* * *

**-tbc soon!-**


	5. Chapter 5

Previously on Gargoyles: Puck is telling a story to Alex and his two mean friends, Morgan and Shane. In the story, baby Alex shrank some teenagers down to size. Two of the teenagers died right away, and the only ones left are Margaret and two sons of a Quarryman, James and Preston. We left them climbing up to Lexington's computer desk.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gargoyles; Disney does. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended. I make no money from this. Story concept and certain plot elements by Mentoria.

Rating: T for language, gore, scary situations

Summary: A Halloween tale from Castle Wyvern. Alex exacts some revenge, Lex loses some guests, and Brooklyn gets spooked. 89% crack.

Notes: Takes place in the cartoon universe, post-Goliath Chronicles.

* * *

Shrunk

By probablyquantum

* * *

Chapter 5: Breakfast

* * *

The problem with trying to type on a computer screen when you're the size of an insect is that you weigh about as much as an insect, Margaret decided. Even with all three of them hopping up and down on the "S" key at the same time—and even with the small miracle that the cursor had already been in a word processing window—there was no way they were going to be able to type a damn thing.

"This just isn't going to work," Preston whined after their fifth attempt at a simultaneous jump.

Margaret sighed. She hated to admit it, but the guy was right. Trying to type had probably been a stupid idea to begin with. The problem was, now that they were finally on the keyboard, the mere thought of the trek back was exhausting. Sure, they'd started from the Caps Lock key, but it had taken a while.

She spied a cavern a short trek away. Trying to fight a feeling of vertigo, she recognized it as a compartment in a multi-chambered organizer that held paperclips, pens, and other miscellaneous junk. It was perhaps a few inches square and impossibly deep. She pointed it out to the others. "That would be a good place to stay," she explained. "We can plan what to do from there, okay?"

She wanted to say that it would be a good place to hide, but she wasn't ready to admit that the prospect of facing a return of the gargoyles was terrifying. As far as she was concerned, she was only temporarily allied with the enemy.

As if God were reading her mind and wanted her to have the worst day ever, the door creaked open. In walked—predictably—Lexington and Brooklyn. They were talking, but the sound was distorted and too loud to hear, as if her tiny eardrums couldn't handle the vibrations.

"God dammit!" James cursed. "Don't they ever leave? Hide!"

James dove to the edge of the "S" key and slid into the space between the keys. They'd avoided that space on the way there, instead hopping on the tops of the keys, because they'd been afraid that there would be no way out of the space. But they had little choice now; Lexington was well-known as a computer nerd. The keyboard might be the first place he looked, and there was no way that they could make it to the safe cubby hole before Lexington got to the desk.

So down they went. Margaret hesitated at the edge of the key, but there was no time even to count to three, so she sat at the ledge and slid down. The fall made her stomach flip, and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the uncomfortable crash on the dirty floor.

To her surprise, James caught her. His strong arms loosened around her waist as he gently lowered her to the ground. She blinked up at him in shock for a moment, and he stared back. Preston's warning shout from above ("Heave ho!") spoiled the mood, and James stepped aside to break his brother's fall, too.

Margaret did not have time to decide if that moment had been weird or not, because James grabbed her hand and pulled her underneath the key. When all three of them were huddled safely under the "S" key, James still did not let go. _That_ situation was definitely weird. She allowed it, though, because it was better than the alternative.

The space under the key was dark, and the floor was littered with crumbs and dust. Margaret was glad that there was not enough light to see the details. The floor was sticky under her feet, so she tried to stay still and decided not to sit down. Beside her, James seemed to come to the same conclusion.

The gargoyles talked for a while. Eventually they heard the door open and close again. Margaret was about to relax when a boom echoed around her and shook the floor. She grabbed James's arm as she fell, but all that accomplished was both of them falling on their butts. Margaret wrinkled her nose at the gunk on the floor; James looked similarly disgusted.

The booming continued at a rapid pace, with small pauses every so often. The floor shook with each thud. Preston had managed to remain standing only because he held onto the inner wall of the key, his hands around the bottom edge for balance. Uncharitably, Margaret thought that made him seem prissy.

It really should have been obvious what was happening. If Margaret had not been preoccupied with finding reasons to dislike Preston, maybe she could have warned him that one of the gargoyles was still in the room and was typing something and so he should not be holding on to the "S" key like that, especially given how common that letter was in the average English sentence.

Even so, she had only a few seconds—maybe the space of a few words—to process the unfamiliar booming sound before the typist needed an "S." No one could really fault her anymore than they could blame Preston or James for not recognizing the danger in time.

All she managed to say after her realization was a pathetic "Hey!" before the key came crashing down on Preston's arms. The force of the blow knocked Preston to the ground. He screamed and twitched as James bolted to help his brother.

Margaret felt queasy. She definitely did not want to look at the injury. It was clear from the screaming that at least Preston was alive, and the key didn't reach all the way to the ground so his arms probably were still attached. The force of the blow must have broken some bones, though.

She huddled toward the center of the key while the typing went on. James eventually pulled Preston away from the edge toward the safer area inside. As long as they stayed away from the center column, they couldn't possibly die here. Except from starvation or disease, Margaret mused, looking around at the unsanitary conditions.

Preston had finally stopped moaning and screaming; James had made him a sling from his jacket. It looked like both his arms had been broken. To his credit, he suffered mostly in silence after the initial shock had worn off, although he had started shaking and shuddering soon afterward.

James surprised Margaret by returning to her side instead of staying near Preston. He put his arm around her shoulders and leaned in close to her ear. She shot him a death glare, but he smiled apologetically and whispered, "He's bleeding really bad."

So the closeness was more for appearances, so that Preston wouldn't overhear? Margaret could work with that. She replied just as quietly, "Where?"

"His arm. I tied it off with his jacket and arranged mine so he can't move, but I don't think it's working." He bit his lip. "I don't think he's gonna be able to climb out of here."

That _was_ a problem. "He can stay here. We can find food and bring it back. And we can go get help, too."

James just sighed as he squeezed her shoulder. He didn't like the idea, but that was probably their only real choice.

Later, after a sober conversation with Preston, who understood how bad off he was, James and Margaret found themselves trekking along the bottom floor of the keyboard. The typing had stopped long ago, but they scurried underneath the walls of the keys just in case.

A pile of crumbs and debris against the wall near the Caps Lock key allowed them to climb out again. Margaret went first—James had claimed to be able to catch her if she fell—so she was the first to look around.

Sure enough, Lexington was sitting in the desk chair reading a book. She was more than a little concerned to see a giant can of RAID next to his arm. It probably wouldn't kill her on contact since she was technically not an insect, but it would probably still poison her. Or drown her.

Best not to be seen, then. She signaled for James to be quiet and quick. After she hoisted herself up onto the edge of the keyboard, she jogged to the corner where she could climb down the cord onto the desk. After the sheer climb up to the desktop, the keyboard seemed easy.

James shouted from behind her. She turned and was about to lecture him about the importance of being quiet, but then she saw where he was pointing. Lexington was reaching for the bug spray and was aiming it right at them.

_Well, shit, _she thought. "Run!" she ordered, and slid down the cord onto the solid wood of the desk. She and James bolted toward the dark cubby hole she'd pointed out earlier.

A loud hiss that could only have been an aerosol can rang in her ears. Their destination was too far; there was no way they could make it in time. But the expected shower of death didn't happen. She risked a glance behind her and nearly tripped over her own feet in surprise.

Lexington had picked up the keyboard and was tilting it at an almost ninety-degree angle, spraying the keys. Apparently he'd found the idea of typing on a bug-infested board more revolting than having two bugs scrambling across his desk.

If only he cleaned the machine more often, Margaret sniffed, he wouldn't have to worry about that. It wasn't a very rational thought, she knew, but she found that she didn't care. Because Preston was in there and was either being drowned in RAID or having his neck broken by the way the gargoyle was shaking the keyboard.

When Lexington reach for a can of condensed air, Margaret came to her senses and pulled James away from the sight. He followed reluctantly, his hand in hers and a dazed expression on his face.

When they were halfway to the safety of the mail organizer, Lexington stood up and left the room with the keyboard tucked under his arm. Why, Margaret couldn't fathom; maybe to give it a power wash? The idea made her sick, so she just focused on getting James somewhere quiet so he could have a breakdown or whatever it was he needed to do.

* * *

Brooklyn chuckled as he watched Lexington shake the crumbs out of his keyboard over the edge of the balcony. Seriously, the trash would have been just as good a place for the debris as any. His mockery was a bit meaner than usual, but he was just paying Lexington back for making fun of his plans to conduct a séance. If there was a ghost named Oscar, it was only prudent to try to figure out why he was there and what it would take to get him to cross over to the other side.

"You watch way too many scary movies," Lexington claimed, wrinkling his nose as he inspected his newly cleaned keyboard. "But you can waste your time however you want, so long as you also get me breakfast."

Brooklyn shrugged. It was his turn, after all. "Lucky Charms okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"'Kay. Meet you in the office when you're done OCD-ing."

Brooklyn poured two bowls of cereal in the kitchen, then returned to their temporary office. He set the bowls down on the desk and plopped down in his own chair to the left of the main computer, which was now missing its keyboard. He could see the evidence of Lexington's recent cleaning—the RAID can, the empty can of condensed air, the . . . two bugs crawling toward the hutch.

Huh. Okay, so maybe Lex was on to something. But Brooklyn prided himself on being a brave and powerful warrior, so he wasn't going to prance about complaining about a couple of near-microscopic pests, unlike some males in his clan.

Instead, he grinned and checked over his shoulder to make sure Lexington wasn't nearby. He picked up a piece of paper and maneuvered it in between the two bugs, slipping the paper over one of the creatures. It was small, and he couldn't identify it, which could have explained Lexington's revulsion, but still, that was no excuse to act like such a sissy.

Thinking he was the most brilliant, evil rookery brother in the world, he tipped the paper over Lexington's bowl and watched the bug land on a rainbow marshmallow.

This was going to be great.

Lexington strolled in a few minutes later, visibly more calm now that his precious keyboard was vermin-free.

He sat down and pulled up some basic views from the security cameras as he watched the small crew of employees dismantling the haunted house. He absent-mindedly munched on his cereal as he watched and occasionally flipped to Ebay to check on his auctions.

Brooklyn rather liked playing supervisor with Lexington. They woke up in the evening, bickered, ate breakfast together, and continued to work throughout the night. The recent decrease in anti-gargoyle violence meant that they could take some time to themselves without constantly patrolling the streets. Goliath had decided that they could use a vacation, and Lexington had decided to spend it working on his various hobbies. Brooklyn was more than happy to keep his best friend company.

Especially when it moments like this. He burst out laughing when Lexington drained his bowl and continued his online shopping, completely oblivious to the prank.

"What?" Lexington asked, only half annoyed.

"Nothing. I've just decided that you're right, there probably isn't a ghost."

Lexington blinked. "Huh? Okay. Thank you for coming to your senses." Then Lexington narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Knowing he couldn't outsmart Lex, Brooklyn shrugged. "'Cause I found one of your mystery bugs and put it in your cereal." He tipped the bowl slightly so he could make sure that it was indeed empty. "And you totally just ate it."

Lexington shot out of his chair. "Ew! Oh my God!" He grabbed a can of Coke and chugged it down to wash out the imagined taste. Brooklyn laughed as Lex cursed. "I hate you, you know that? You're disgusting and gross and mean and—"

"Yeah, yeah. I hate you too. You deserve it, though."

"Do not!"

"Do too. You need to man up and stopped worrying about germs and insects and rats. You're a legendary Scottish warrior, remember?"

Lexington glared at him, but eventually he sat back down and resumed his shopping and supervising.

_Score one for me_, Brooklyn thought. Lex would probably retaliate later, but really that was half the fun.

* * *

Margaret huddled behind a pencil, peeking around the pink, half-used eraser. Her heart hadn't stopped beating erratically for ages. That—that—_monster_ had scooped up James and used him for a prank. It was easy to tell what was going on even without understanding what they were saying. James had just died for a joke!

She was so small and the world was so big that she couldn't even tell exactly which spoonful was the one that meant James's death. Somehow that made it worse, because she imagined dozens of crunchy deaths over the course of the simple meal. Ugh, to die alongside a bright, cheery marshmallow! Or worse, to die in those annoying spoonfuls that were just gross oat pieces without any sugary bits! Either one was insulting to James's memory.

She could still remember the way it felt when he held her. They hadn't really known each other; they hadn't kissed; they hadn't even liked each other very much. But they'd held hands, and they'd been scared together. It counted, somehow more than Andrew had. Andrew had just been a date. James had been real.

Of course, now that they were both dead, it didn't matter. She was too scared even to make it to the organizer's dark promise of safety. She just found the first object that would block her from view and hid behind it to watch the carnage.

The two gargoyles chatted for a while more. At one point, there was a knock on the door, and a human man was there. It looked like Xanatos's butler, and he was holding a little boy in his arms.

Lexington seemed happy to see the child, who climbed up onto a desk chair while Lexington and Brooklyn spoke to the butler.

The kid had a sippy cup, but it was empty. He shook it despondently. Also, apparently the boy was smarter than your average toddler because he immediately moved the pencil aside to reveal Margaret.

Margaret froze in terror, but the boy squealed in delight. He waved his hand in front of him, and the top of his sippy cup unscrewed itself. He shook the last drops of juice out of it and turned it upside down.

This time, Margaret knew exactly what was happening. She'd seen that look on little kids before. She ran as fast as she could, but she didn't get very far before a blue plastic wall cut her off. She was a prisoner; the kid had trapped her underneath the dome of the sippy cup.

Next would come the paper sliding underneath her for a floor. Her prediction proved true enough, except that the paper was moving on its own and the cup-and-paper cage levitated off the desk. But all things considered, being captured by a warlock toddler was not the most unusual thing she'd seen in a while. She just hoped that the kid would feed her.

* * *

"What have you got there, Alex?" Lexington asked as he returned to his desk. Alex had stolen his chair, so he took Brooklyn's. "Oh, ew."

To his dismay, Alex had captured one of the bugs. Lexington sighed. He was still annoyed at having accidentally eating one earlier, but Brooklyn's "man up" admonishment had hit home. He guessed there wasn't anything too scary about a mystery bug. He would still fumigate, though. There was a child in the castle, after all.

"Oops," Alex said. Was Alex sorry he'd grossed Lex out? Sometimes it was hard to tell with that child.

"It's okay. You've got a new pet, huh? Well let's get you a real cage with some air holes and get it some lettuce or something. Sound good?"

Alex giggled and nodded. Lex just smiled. If it made Alex happy, then he could put up with a bug.

* * *

**tbc **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is the last chapter, a short epilogue!**

Previously on Gargoyles: Puck is telling a story to Alex and his two mean friends, Morgan and Shane. In the story, baby Alex shrank some teenagers down to size. All but one of them died in terrible accidents.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gargoyles; Disney does. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended. I make no money from this. Story concept and certain plot elements by Mentoria.

Rating: T for language, gore, scary situations

Summary: A Halloween tale from Castle Wyvern. Alex exacts some revenge, Lex loses some guests, and Brooklyn gets spooked. 89% crack. COMPLETE!

Notes: Takes place in the cartoon universe, post-Goliath Chronicles.

* * *

Shrunk

By probablyquantum

* * *

Chapter 6: The Moral of the Story

* * *

"And Margaret is still roughly the size of an ant to this day," Puck concluded, his arms held aloft in triumph. "She lives in a small cricket cage in Alex's room and eats rather well, all things considered."

Morgan Shane snorted. "That's a dumb story."

Puck crossed his arms over his chest. "And what, pray tell, is the matter with my story?"

"It's ridiculous. It couldn't have happened that way because if people found out that it was Margaret and not a bug, then Owen would have made him change her back to the right size."

"It's funny how you're okay with the magical shrinking and levitation, but you seize on _that_ detail to say that it's unrealistic. Maybe Owen is just sadistic and didn't want Alex to change her back. Did you ever think of that?"

Johnny Palsgraff shook his head. "No, Owen seems a lot nicer than you are."

Puck rolled his eyes. "You have no idea. Anyway, I—I mean, Owen did eventually figure out what happened. So they called me in, and that's how I found out. But Owen had recently taken away Alex's favorite blankie—"

"Oh. My. God." Alex hid his face in his hands. Puck could be so embarrassing sometimes.

"—Shush, child, it was your favorite and he took it away because you used it as a flying carpet, which is a very dangerous and foolish thing to do and nearly gave your poor mother a heart attack. Anyway, Owen and Alex weren't seeing eye to eye, and Alex was feeling insubordinate, and he refused to change her back for a long time. Months, even.

"He eventually came around, but by that time Margaret's parents had moved on and were used to the idea of their daughter dying in some mysterious Quarryman plot, and Margaret told us that she'd rather just stay bug-sized because of some boring human emotional trauma or whatnot. We compromised and now she's at least big enough to at least not look like a bug to the naked eye. No accidental deaths have happened since, we're proud to say."

Morgan and John exchanged wide-eyed glances. Alex looked unimpressed. "Bull," Morgan decided, standing up. "Thanks for the story, but I don't believe it for a second, and it was weird besides."

"But you can't leave before you tell me the moral of the story!" Puck flashed his best cat-who-ate-the-canary grin.

Morgan shrugged. "Don't hang out here because weird shit happens?"

"Oh no," Puck said. His grin turned nasty. "The moral is, 'Don't piss off Alexander Xanatos.'"

"That only works if I believe the story," Morgan sniffed. "Come on, John. Alex."

The three boys stood up, but then they realized that they hadn't decided what to do next: the haunted house or something Alex wanted to do.

John cleared his throat. "You know, Alex, you're right. Haunted houses are kinda lame. Want to play X-Box?"

"Yeah," Morgan added, suddenly eager to seem agreeable. "We can play anything you want. Okay?"

Alex put a finger to his chin as he thought. "I think I would rather play house. You can be the mom and Johnny can be the daughter."

Puck raised his eyebrows. Alex certainly had a vicious streak.

Morgan turned red and looked like he wanted nothing more than to punch Alex in the face. "Okay. That sounds good, doesn't it, Johnny?"

"Uh. Can I be a son instead?"

"Only if you're good. Then we can talk pre-op hormone therapy options." Alex looked pleased with his devious plan.

John obviously had no idea what that meant, but he nodded his head anyway.

Puck changed back to Owen after the boys had left. He had done a damn good job teaching that boy. Feeling proud, he wandered to Alex's room where he saw Morgan serving an imaginary steak to Alex and spoon-feeding Johnny imaginary peas-and-carrots-flavored baby food. Very vicious.

Alex took a Hershey's kiss from his bag of Halloween candy and unwrapped it while he watched Morgan and John nervously following his instructions. He leaned over to a small, blue cricket cage and dropped the candy inside.

The door to a tiny, hand-made doll-house opened.

"Happy Halloween, Margaret," Alex whispered. A tiny, slightly-bigger-than-an-ant Margaret waved back.

Humans really were wonderful creatures, Puck decided, if only for sheer entertainment value.

* * *

**END. Reviews are appreciated!**


End file.
